


「Deep Spring; 深春一隅」

by yuren



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Edo Period, F/M, Heian Period, Mention of blood, if needed there is a glossary of terms at the end :')
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuren/pseuds/yuren
Summary: A three-and-a-half part Reincarnation!AU set in three different time periods: Heian, Edo, and modern day. In each instance, you and Akaashi appear as springtime lovers, embracing a fleetingly eternal love as the cherry blossom and her gentle wind.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 61





	1. 1.『Fevered Spring; 一場春夢』

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a/n:** first series!! and i’m eternally grateful to [@kuroopaisen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuroopaisen) for her encouragement and beta work on this petit monstre :’)
> 
>  **warnings:** soft angst. heian era - political marriage and implied love affairs.

In that first and final spring, the cherry blossoms were most dazzling in the gentle breeze. 

The harbingers of a new spring, the blooms gave you forever and asked for nothing. This observation of the first spring was safe and tempered, merely a recognition of a time and world that had long flown past. After all, this spring marked the first of many beginnings. And in the festivities of all things new, this small moment in your childhood home, as you gazed out at the full blooms of the cherry blossom grove, it was a deep, fleeting moment that only mattered to you. The moment simply fluttered by all else, lost in the nobility of politics and romance of negotiations.

All beginnings came with ends. You have traded in your adolescent cherry blossom viewings for shelter behind the silken screen. This new spring, you passed your days catching glimpses and whispers of the blushing, transitory world outside. These glimpses — these specks that held the whole of your adopted world — served as reminders of whatever freedom you had already compromised. Should you retain anymore, it would become the talk of the imperial court. For eyes were alert upon the newly wedded bride of the Minamoto clan. To mistake your position for play was to tempt the politics of the nation’s heavy hand. 

You supposed that not much had changed since the formalities have been performed and spectated. As per customs, you remained at your family’s country estate in Uji, some hours away from the capital of Heian-kyō. And as per customs, your new husband resided with the political affairs of the imperial court. Your role was to merely wait, perhaps for him or even perhaps for a different him. The latter was a practical expectation that most if not all partook in. But you knew particularly well that to the quiet, sleepy retreat of Uji, Heian-kyō now dispatched its eyes and ears. You were the fancied target.

You understood that even if your husband did not return from his official matters, it would be in your and your family’s interest for you to stay grounded behind the precious silken screen. For your name is now attached to one so powerful and so prevalent that it would be unwise to seek out any more of a floating world beyond the legal bonds. Especially if that world passed through yours in a momentary breeze of gunmetal grey.

It had been a mere coincidence, a coincidence so perverse that no one would want to believe it should this knowledge escape. You had been reciting the newest of your _waka_ poems, heavy silken robes shuffling along as you paced behind the diaphanous screen. Your attendants had left for the capital to deliver a painstakingly ornate overcoat to your mother-in-law and a perfectly perfumed letter to your noble husband. You were left in an uncanny state of solitude, the rustling of the spring breeze and the murmurs of the Uji River as your accompanying song. The air was fraught with the scented subtlety of the blossoms beyond. For the first since you took on the Minamoto name, you were curiously free. 

You savoured the hours to tend to your tender verses, pretending that they were for a loved one as you momentarily brought spring back to your feet. With the afternoon sun casting a glow on the cherry blossom grove behind the screen, you swayed around, lost in thought as you finalized the last of the day’s words. You savoured the interim to perform all this for your own pleasure. This was freedom until you caught a glimpse of a silhouette seeping into your vision, a shadow from within the cherry blossom haze. 

A man. 

You quickly turned away, robes grazing your ankles as you shifted from the porch-side screen. Your hand smoothly reached into your billowing sleeves for a modicum of precautious decency. Fan snapping open with a practiced grace, you shielded it over your features even with your back facing the screen. 

“Who goes there?”

The mellow breeze blew through the cherry blossom grove, bringing the floating world right to your side. 

“Akaashi _no_ Keiji.”

Your eyes widened at the family name. Spinning around in a flurry, you stumbled slightly over the trailing fabrics of your attire. As you made your way to the silken screen, you hesitated for a moment, observing the figure just beyond the divide. There was no tension in his posture, and you mustered as much poise as you could in your flustered state, cautiously settling down on the floor cushion on your side of the screen.

The man mirrored your actions, a makeshift seat imagined on the pale corridor floor on his area of the thin, translucid divide. His figure was but a faint mirage, but the clarity of his eyes was enough to bring you a taste of the world beyond. A deep piercing grey that only heightened the softness of his speech and the cherry blossoms rustling through the grove.

“My lord.” Even as you try to maintain the expected elegance and disposition, your voice wavered just noticeably.

Fan still obscuring your face, one that was unbecomingly red, you fought the urge to back away from the grey-tinged spring before you. 

“I apologize for startling you.” His voice was so gentle, so smooth and carrying all the emotions and riches of a long overdue equinox. “With my father attending to official business in your home, I became distracted by this lovely grove of well-tended cherry blossom trees, wandering within until I caught wind of an even lovelier bloom.”

You felt his gaze set upon you, and your face burned up like petals in flame. Your tongue was tied, and you were for once unable to respond.

He made another call.

“Lady of the cherry blossom grove, would you be so kind as to grace me with your poem again?” 

Your fan snapped shut.

“Decorum, my lord!” You exclaimed, voice aghast and wavering just noticeably. “You cannot be here. As the heir to the Akaashi name, surely you must know the allegiance of the house you currently breeze around in.”

He sat rigid, eyes widened by the spontaneity of your response. And your throat sealed shut.

Adrenaline had seized you, and you now awaited his response with bated breath. This noble man, as elite as he may be, must know of the wedded status of this house’s woman. He must know of the protocols against meeting with such a woman. Yet, you had been forced to reprimand him, this Keiji of the Akaashi name. 

This was all a mistake.

To your utmost surprise, his shadowed figure shook with breathy laughter. Head thrown back, his eyes reflected the sky’s boundless blue, and his discerning irises condensed with mirth. Heavens, he was like a subtle breeze on a fine spring day, and it made your cheeks blossom with colour again. 

“You are indeed the mysteriously illustrious lady that has been in a year-long poetry feud with all the ladies of the court.”

His eyes shone with mirth as an easy smile graced his regal features.

“Dare I say that you are winning?” He chuckled, voice tinged with a honest amusement.

At his subtle, blithe ease with you, you barely suppressed the astonishment that made its way to your features. Even you, with your ingrained, well-versed control and instinctive lowering of your gaze, were unable to stop your heart from swelling in a brazen pride. Akaashi no Keiji, prodigious hope of his name, knew of your poetic notoriety and found entertainment in your character.

“The crown prince and I have had endless musings into the early mornings to chance at the portrait and mind behind your resplendent works, dear bride to the son to the Left,” he continued, words flowing like the currents beyond. “And to think I have the utmost pleasure of meeting such a virtuoso today.”

Your eyes travelled back up as he fed air to the flame. You caught the most striking glimpse of his amused expression before you averted your eyes to the blooms behind him. There was more safety in the well-tended grove than in the curious gunmetal grey. 

But the grey too was curious, and his curiosity was unbounded by the politics of a wedded noblewoman.

“Lady of the cherry blossom grove, your poem, if you will.” His voice persisted, enticing you to somewhere you weren’t sure if you could follow. Yet even as you put stops and pauses in this quickening pace, you were already being pulled into the sway of his gentle current.

“The poem, Lord Akaashi,” you murmured, desperately clinging onto your patronage, “is written for Lord Minamoto, my husband.”

You feebly answered with your last card of decorum. You heard him exhale shakily, a falter barely perceptible, before he settled back into a relaxed, proper posture again. 

“Your father made simply the wrong choice.”

There was no bitterness in his statement. He spoke as if his opinion were a fact.

“My lord,” you paused, unsure if you wanted to encourage this discussion, “do you imply that he should have picked Right?”

Many moons ago, the Esteemed Lord Akaashi, Minister of the Right, had dealt the other calling card in his son’s interest.

“He should have picked what was best.”

“For whom was the Right best?” Your voice barely a whisper as the words tumbled out before you could smother them.

Sharp, discerning eyes reined in yours, and your heart plummeted. You thought that perhaps you no longer wanted to hear the answer to a lifetime of maybes.

But try as you may, Akaashi was the breeze that fed upon your rosy spring. 

“For the lady and her promised.”

A breeze whispered past as the babbling of the river continued to run its course. The air was heady with the fragrance of the spring blooms, and the two of you sat there with the vernal equinox quivering between you. The final card shown with the hand already dealt, neither Akaashi’s answer that billowed past nor the lifetime of perhaps and what ifs that he professed could tip winter into spring. For the fact was the Right had been discarded for the Left. 

Your job was to forget the spring and never abandon the power bestowed upon your name. As the sun shone directly behind the blossomed grove, you were reminded of the stolen time in a deep spring’s breeze. This already was much too reckless, much too ephemeral, much too consuming. You must put a stop to this fever dream.

Your fan remained in your lap as you steeled yourself, focusing solely on his gunmetal blues. 

“The Left has my promise.” Your voice was painstakingly even, and for once, you despised it. 

Akaashi once again exhaled. But there was no settling back in. His eyes trained on yours as you made to shift your fan back into your sleeves. It was nearly time to return to the darkness of your room.

“My lord, please take your leave. It would not be wise for someone to see you here.”

You were counting the moments before your attendants would slide open your residence’s doors. It was easier to pretend this was but a spring-fevered dream than to live with the lifetime torment of the rumoured perhaps. 

“Please, Lord Akaashi, you must go.”

The man stayed rooted as he focused on you, eyes brewing in thought. But you could not focus on that, not with the sun beginning to dip below the grove. 

“I beg of you, please.”

Your eyes pleaded with his. If he could breathe a lifetime of maybes into that brief caress of a fleeting spring, the gentle man beyond the screen should also feel your need for absolute peace hereinafter. This world he proposed could only be ephemeral, and you could only hope to relive this in your sober dreams. Any more and it would be agony. Though you wished to do nothing more than to drift along to the deep spring, you had long made your choice to stay behind the screen. 

Finally, the gunmetal blues softened and sighed. 

“Lady of the cherry blossom grove, I shall take your plea and go. But I will continue this matter with the proper decorum.” 

He made his way to rise, and you clambered onto your feet.

“What do you mean?” You blurted out, grace and decorum be damned. 

“As the illustrious bride to the Left, surely you must know of this proposal’s _decorum_.”

“You—”

“Please expect a letter in a night’s time.”

He was impossible. This was impossible. You were sure that your face was visibly red even through the silken screen. You turned to leave behind the silken screen, fists curled up in an extraordinary indulgence of pure emotion. They would be back soon, and either way, spring would end with it. There was no need for fleeting promises nor clandestine love. This was not for you, not for the devout bride of the Minamoto Left. 

“Lady of the cherry blossom grove.”

You paused.

“Your name at least.”

His voice once again naturally caught you in your exit. You knew he was not asking for your descriptive name. 

“So I have a genuine name to envision the letter to,” he murmured in his gentle drifting tenor, “even should you choose not to reply.”

“You really should not be here, nor should you be talking to me.” Your back was turned away, and your hand casted white with the dichotomy of head and heart.

“How can I desire to not talk to you when the whole of the court breathes your name like a long-awaited equinox? When I hear of the grace and resonance of your poems? When I dream into the early mornings of the lady behind those sonorous verses?”

A new desperation swelled in his voice. And it was heady, euphoric, enticing, begging for your return to the divide of the silken screen. 

“Please, your name,” Akaashi repeated, pouring forth all the sincerity and aching heart in his final plea.

It was wretched and bold, desolate and full. It was a current that you could get lost in and submit to. You craved it. 

“In exchange for what?” Your tongue was foreign, waxing in a language that you had not dreamt of.

“For my pen and promise. I shall compose works in your honour. One equivalent to Lady Murasaki’s.”

“You know of _The Tales of Genji_? A woman’s work?”

“Yes, beauty is beauty. I shall not care if it be a woman writer or a man.”

Akaashi put up a slender hand to the screen, smiling a small smile for the two of you that held all the todays, yesterdays, and everlasting forevers. 

“I shall not care if in this lifetime, you are lawfully with another. You are to be my promised in all lifetimes that follow.”

A strong gust picked up, billowing past the silken screen, showering pale rosy petals into your room. It was a breeze that made the cherry blossom more ephemeral, and in return, the cherry blossom made the breeze more eternal. Spring has sprung, and you were one with the current that carried you to the next. 

Freedom was a language that you could learn to desire in this life, no matter how transitory it was. It might not mean a forever in this lifetime, but the bonds that connected would tide over to the next.

“L/n _no_ Y/n, my name is Y/n.”

The door to the main foyer opened and closed. The wind ebbed away.

The next evening, you received the first letter bearing the scent of the deepest spring breeze.

Thus concluded the first and final spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **About Series Title:**
> 
>   * The title is taken from the phrase「深い春の隅で」(“in the corner of the deep spring”). This is a lyric from Suda Masaki’s song, [Machigai Sagashi](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D7940nuwCEYA&t=YjRkMDYzNzM0ZDY1NmVlZWVlZGIzMmIzZGJlNGEwN2ZhZjc4MzdmNCwwMzhiMDY1MmQxODE0NGNiODgwMWU4YjFhMWFjNDY0M2FlZTJiZTc4&ts=1596222147) (song and lyrics by Yonezu Kenshi).
> 

> 
> **About 『Fevered Spring; 一場春夢』:**
> 
>   * Heian-kyō is one of the former names for modern day Kyoto. It was the capital of Japan from 794 to 1868. The “Heian period” (which ran from 794 to 1185) derives its name from “Heian-kyō”.
>   * Reader-chan in the first chapter is a member of the _kuge_ , or aristocracy. Married _kuge_ women spent most of their lives in their residences with attendants. They mostly watched life pass behind silk screens and fans, and would engage themselves with literary arts, making clothing, and the occasional outing. As you can imagine, women _kuge_ were often bored. Aside from other females, father, and husband, she was not supposed to meet with others, which leads us to the next point.
>   * The imperial court is organised by ranks, with the Emperor as the head and the Ministers of the Left and Right following in power. The two Ministers sat on each side of the Emperor in court and supervised the main eight bureaus for him. Theoretically, the Left and Right shared equal power, but in fact, the Left held slightly more prestige and power. 
>   * The “proposal” that Akaashi mentioned and “the practical expectation that most if not all partook in'' earlier in the chapter all refer to love affairs. Heian culture was preoccupied with ranks and social class, so marriage had been based on socio-political reasons. Men were allowed multiple wives according to their ranks, and women were theoretically expected to remain faithful to a single husband. However, discreet (even just the pretense of discretion) affairs were an accepted part of life back then. Men took on concubines and held affairs at court while women often had visitors at their residences or met with them at temples and stuff. Poetry and letters were carefully constructed to signify interest, written on specially selected paper and sent out with sprigs of seasonal flowers and scents. Both parties spent much time strategizing and analyzing affairs and the “game”. As you can probably tell, there really wasn’t much to do. 
>   * _The Tale of Genji_ is a classical Japanese novel written by the Heian noblewoman Murasaki Shikibu at the height of the Heian Period.
> 



	2. 2.『Spring Storm; 春風化雨』

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** soft angst. edo period - implied character death.

It was not uncommon for rainfall to accompany the arrival of spring. But in the town of Uji, there did not appear to be solace to this spring’s showers. In the neat, tidy streets, visitors were scarce and few. Locals flitted about, wielding paper umbrellas and hurrying to get the last of their day’s work done before turning in. The alleyways off the main road, usually filled with a steady flow of visitors and tea enthusiasts, now whispered in a quiet and wistful milieu, grazing past, as if the heavy sighs of Kyoto had found their way into this small, prosperous town.

Kyoto was but a husk of its glorious past, the imperial court a puppet of its former glory. Samurais and shoguns commanded the land now, and with Edo now the nation’s mandate, Uji had also lost its significance as a proximate to the monarchy. From a nobles’ retreat to a samurais’ battleground, Uji was now quietly playing its role as the nation’s tea source. 

Quaint, bilevel tea houses lined the riverbanks and backstreets. Your shop was in a quiet riverside location at the end of an uptown bridge. On a good day, the ground level would be bustling with customers, and you would be skirting between tables, taking orders and returning with house specials. Visitors came for the quality brew. And with the tearoom overlooking a magnificent cherry blossom tree in the small garden and a segment of the Uji river streaming beyond, there had hardly been a time for a stagnant spring day. 

Those were the tranquil days. As you looked out to the blooms being battered by the rain shower, you sighed, propping the bamboo sweeper in your hands against the window. Since you had inherited this teahouse from the previous owner, you had never seen the blossoms disappear so quickly. The garden rained in a flurry of pink, and you were reminded of a verse from your school days. 

_That first and final spring, the breeze more alive, the cherry blossoms more ephemeral. Together, the deep spring became everlasting._

The deep spring. What you would give for an ephemeral, everlasting spring. But you supposed that in a perverse way, this spring shower brought out the starkness of beauty. The blossoms sunk with the rain, staining the sprouting ground with specks of bloodshed pink. These past twenty-something solar cycles have been nothing short of a political chaos for the nation. And the common folks had been the ones to endure the worst of it. Though the Tokugawa shogunate was now established in Edo of the East, there were still frequent skirmishes between the _bakufu_ and the remnants of their former allies. 

And it was in turbulent times like these that the harbour of a small town like Uji provided the safest solace of all.

A knock. And then a louder one. You were not expecting visitors anymore. 

Grabbing the broom, you cautiously made your way to the front of your shop. Before you could even react, the door slammed open with a violent rattle.

A figure stumbled through. You gripped your makeshift weapon in front of you, readying your vocals to scream. 

It stood in your entryway, hunched over, face obscured by the wide brimmed hat. He was dressed in the plainest of burlap _hakama_. No, that was no burlap. It was most definitely silk, you realized with a start, very faded, travel-wearied silk. And the hat was a _jingasa_ — black and lacquered, reserved for the warrior class. A sword hung by his side. 

There was no mistaking it. This man was a samurai, and by the looks of it, not a Tokugawa one either. 

“Who are you?” You shouted at the intruder, somewhat proud of the steadiness in your voice despite the trembling of your hands.

The man shifted, slowly propping himself up on his knees and looked at you. 

A gust of the chilly spring evening rumbled into the teahouse, rattling the sliding door against its frame. In the dim glow of the oil lamp, you stared at the ashen face before you. What stared back was haunting almost.

Dark locks — so dark that they almost blended in with the _jingasa_ — tumbled around his haggard face. Perhaps once holding a healthy plumpness, his skin spoke of centuries of barren listlessness. He should not be much older than you, yet his only light was the pair of sharp, smoky gunmetal greys that stared straight into your tremulous gaze. 

“Akaashi Keiji.” The stranger’s voice delivered these foreign words in a hoarse, shaky whisper, as if he too was surprised by the words formed by his chords. But you could hear it, the equinox in his voice. 

The two of you studied each other, assessing the situation. He was worse for wear, and looked as though he would collapse entirely any minute. The fleetingness of spring once again drifted into your thoughts, and you looked to the downpour behind him.

This was beyond you. There was no doubt about it. 

“Akaashi-dono was it? Would you—,” you paused as another gale shook the wooden door, interrupting your passivity and picking up the tailends of your offer. “Do you need a place to stay?”

The bold question hung between you two, and you stood up straighter. The man trained his eyes on you. Though his face remained impassive and his figure immobile, his eyes held a storm brewing behind those dark irises. 

Your eyes followed his as he finally made a move, tense posture leaning a bit more onto his knees. 

“If it’s not too much trouble.” His voice barely rasped a wounded breath. You caught his words just as the wind briefly died down. 

Akaashi’s gaze struggled to match yours as they dropped, and you were lunging forward. 

The lone samurai collapses in your arms as the wind continued to howl its war on spring. 

Over the next two weeks, you did what you could to nurse this stranger back to a healthier shade. The first three nights, he had been in such a dire state that his nights and days had been blurs of delirious consciousness. Every waking moment was a fever dream, and every second spent dreaming was a nightmare. The rain had not let down. You had been at your wits end, nearly calling the town physician in the middle of the aberrant storm, until by what you were sure had been sheer willpower, Akaashi’s fever broke on the fourth day. 

When he was able to consume more solid meals, you quickly learned that he had peculiarly selective preferences for a wandering warrior when it came to his food. He liked his porridge softer, a _shirogayu_ that was cottony in texture. It took longer to boil and more care in tending to the fire. For accompaniment, he preferred the simple, freshly picked _nanohana_ from your small garden to the prized _takenoko_ you had purchased as a health booster. Pickled plums made his lips curl from the sourness but he enjoyed the crisp citrusy flavour of your homemade _tsukemono_ preserves. 

Most of all, Akaashi loved that one particular tea that you brewed. 

“This is _hatsumono_ ,” he had commented on the first time you served it to him. It had been the twelfth day, and Akaashi had felt steady enough to sit up and enjoy the main purpose of your teahouse.

You hummed in agreement as you tested the water temperature in small brazier. 

“This is _hatsumono_ , the _shincha_ , the freshest of the first pickings,” he repeated, brows slightly furrowed as he took another sip of the first flush.

“It is a noble flavour. What a noble deserves,” you smiled, satisfied that your best tea had not gone to waste and that your impression of him had not been wrong. 

Akaashi barked out a sharp, dry note of laughter as you pushed him a small plate of _karintō_ , a commoner’s snack, to accompany the brew. 

“Do I appear a noble to you?” He questioned, mulling over the brown-sugar flavour of the fried dough. 

“Well, you’re clearly a general.”

“A general?”

“Yes, a general. But not a Tokugawa general.”

His eyes narrowed at you.

“You need not tell me who you are, or rather were, general for,” you continued calmly as you prepared the next brew, “but I maintain that you are noble at the root of it all.”

“The nobility is useless in this life.”

“Perhaps, but in another life.”

He paused before laughing lowly. 

“Miss, you are wrong. Lives are but one.”

“Akaashi-dono, upon my beliefs, I am in the right,” you smiled wryly at his cynicism. “Indeed our lives are definite in this moment but they are too fleeting to exist singularly. This present is but one of many.”

The samurai, who had once been on the brink of death, could now appear with a flush to his complexion. You were reminded of the cherry blossom petals that had stained trails of rusty copper on your garden ground. 

For the rest of his stay, you continued to brew him whatever _hatsumono_ you had acquired, and Akaashi continued to savour each brew with attentiveness and appreciation. You were convinced that he had also been an Epicurean in some life. He had a rare palate for identifying the subtle delicacies in flavour and taste. He provided feedback on the different tea strains, gave opinions on the quality of your porridge, and even showed you a new way of preparing the fresh _nanohana_ that you picked each morning. It had been how his master’s household — one that had borne an owl symbol, from what little information you were able to gather — used to do it, and it quickly became a permanent addition to your meals. 

By the twenty-third day, Akaashi had learned to brew his own tea, something he had not done once in his many moons of existence. Despite being a quick and dedicated pupil, he still preferred your brew, the intricacies of which he swore were only possible with your hands. He had also started helping out in your store, attempting to keep his profile low while welcoming starry-eyed visitors to your humble establishment. 

“Akaashi-dono, you need to stop sweet-talking the head merchant’s wife,” you hissed at him after closing on the twenty-ninth day. The enamoured woman had visited your tea house six days in a row, and had left you with a fortune in earnings each time. “The other clients I’m not too concerned about but she’s spending her money on the very same tea that her husband sold me.”

“I’ve got to earn my stay somehow,” Akaashi only laughed in response, continuing to wipe down the tables.

There was a twinkling in his eyes, shining with a brightness and ease that pulled deep within your heartstrings’ genesis. You were not one to ignore the blatant facts. You were very much aware of why there had been a recent influx of single seaters at your shop. Through the dedication with which you had tended to him, Akaashi’s face had filled out considerably. He was becoming much livelier, cracking smiles that held only a shadow of the cynicism and bitterness of before. As he hovered from table to table, Akaashi moved with a definite grace that you were sure had been ingrained through conspicuous amounts of training. 

“I hope that I have made up for the considerable trouble that I have caused you,” the man quietly said as he turned to wipe the open windows panel by panel. The weather had improved since the storm of the first night through which Akaashi came into your life. With the sun entering the waning hours of the day, you could see the soft luminance of the budding leaves on the tree outside. 

“How do you mean, Akaashi-dono?” You put your broom down with a frown. “There is no trouble to be had in the first place.”

“I will depart tomorrow,” Akaashi stated softly, looking out into the small garden and the gentle waters beyond. 

The setting rays reflected off of the lazy current of the Uji River, drifting from Lake Biwa before depositing into Osaka Bay. That was somewhere far beyond the lush green plantations of your little town, a sleepy tea destination that welcomed thousands of visitors and kept a few. You had always known that beyond the minutiae of the way of tea and the idylls of Uji, there would always be the mortal men that strived towards the important matters of state, politics, and other grander affairs. 

You supposed that for Akaashi, it was no different. 

“So soon?” You muttered, gaze upon his side profile. 

“One month is not so soon.” He turned back towards you, a tender look settling onto his features. His face was well and alive by now, a dusky hue warmed onto his skin against the setting sun. His eyes reflected a lively gunmetal blue as opposed to the initial grey that had haunted you on the first night. They were still sharp but they held a fondness that had been cultivated over the past weeks.

A slight breeze blew past the young saplings and rustled through the lacquered tresses of his loosely banded hair. In the soft glow of the western sun, Akaashi was like a spring dream from a time immemorial. 

“You have already shown me what one month could hold,” he continued, smile clean and bitterly sweet. It was like the _hatsumono_ that he had learned to love again.

_That first and final spring, the breeze more alive, the cherry blossoms more ephemeral. Together, the deep spring became everlasting._

“You know of that work,” Akaashi breathed out in shock, eyes wide as he looked at you curiously. 

You clasped a hand over your mouth, unaware that you had let your musings slip through your thoughts. Your guest had proven his cultivated upbringing many times. He was a learned man, and you had just blurted out a passage from a classical work you had recited during your village school days. You could not even recall the title of the text.

“Akaashi _no_ Keiji’s _In the Corner of the Deep Spring_.”

At your confused look, Akaashi cleared his throat. 

“That is the title of the passage you just recited. And its author, Akaashi _no_ Keiji, was Minister of the Right when the imperial court was at the height of its power,” Akaashi explained, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “Some say the monument of his life’s work was not in bringing his clan to surpass the Left but in this unassuming literature that you just quoted from.” 

You nodded, familiarity from your brief flirtation with academia coming back.

“It was written for his rival’s primary wife, correct?” You chanced, sitting down on the low table.

“You could be right.” He smiled at your puzzled look. “There is no explicit evidence of her identity, but even if the rumours are true, she was first and foremost his Lady of the Cherry Blossom Grove rather than the legally wedded spouse of another.”

You gazed at him in wonder. “I never thought about it that way, how in his mind, she was only his.”

There were deliberations behind your Akaashi’s phrasings you had come to appreciate. 

“Yes, and that was his way of protecting her as well, especially if she was the Left’s wife.” 

“Those lines are all I recall from this work, so forgive me for my crudeness,” you frowned, unsure of how to continue your line of thought. 

Akaashi gave you an encouraging smile. “It’s alright. You can talk freely of this with me.”

You studied him carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort. He was looking at you with a gentle mirth that you had managed to bring out since the first night. Over the past month, Akaashi had not given you any indications of his unkind side. You decided to ask the question outright.

“Akaashi-dono, are you this man’s direct descendant? One of a royal household? If the other Akaashi ever married at all?”

Akaashi chuckled at your rushed, flustered questions. “He did take a wife for the lineage’s sake. But never a concubine.” Akaashi looked at you, amused as he leaned back onto the window frame. “And indeed, I am. But the Akaashi name had long since lost its meaning to me, thriving as it is in Edo.” 

Truths revealed, suspicions confirmed, the current of the river resonated in the silence between the two of you. It was an old, soothing adagio to bring ease to this new information.

“Akaashi Keiji,” you finally breathed out, letting the name roll off your tongue. “I like it.”

“Even if it’s a noble’s name?” Akaashi asked in an earnestness tinged with pink. 

“Yes.” You returned his inquisitive look with a sincere smile. “Especially since it’s your noble name.”

He hummed in response, mind working through some thoughts. The dark wood of the window sill framed his portrait, the tender leaves of the cherry blossom tree caressing his figure and the fading daylight slipped into the depths of his lacquered hair. Akaashi’s expression softened with the gentle breeze that whispered past, weaving together in a drifting picture as if they were privy to a secret that you were yet aware. 

“Miss, do I get to know your name?”

He spoke with a sincere sagacity that you were afraid to acknowledge.

“You already know it,” you murmured, looking past him to the riverbank across. You referred to the nickname that your neighbours and towns folks referred to you by, the one that hid within this unspoiled tea house and rustic town.

“Your full name,” Akaashi clarified forthright. “I want to know the name of the one I owe my entire life to for when I breathe my last breath.”

“Please do not say that,” you snapped at him, turning your full gaze on him. “You will come back from whatever you have set your mind on.”

“I do not make empty promises,” Akaashi stated plainly. There was no malice, no ill will. It was simply his resolve. He was pulling you out of your month-long daydream and straight into a bloomless reality that you could not bear to accept. 

“Come back for me,” you replied just as cleanly. This was the selfishness of your simple Uji dreams. 

Akaashi frowned for a moment before breaking out into a low chuckle. This was a hollowed, empty, and outrightly cruel victory at hand. Truly, in the passage of one subtle spring, you had shown him all the fleeting moments that could span a lifetime. But this was not a lifetime that he could savour. 

So he straightened up and compromised. “I’ll come back for you.”

Your eyes widened at his words.

“Not in this life but a simpler one. I promise.”

You stumbled onto your feet and hurled yourself into the wind. Wrapping your arms around him, you felt his own link their way around your body as you shook with sobs. The tears came like the rose-tinted rainfall on that fateful evening in which Akaashi had appeared in your life like a vernal storm. Except now, the storm was both the gale that battered the blossoms and the breeze that broke their fall. 

Whether Akaashi genuinely believed his promise was a matter you were willing to overlook. All you knew was that you firmly believed in it, and he knew that you did. For now, this was enough for your restless heart of this lifetime. You could continue on knowing that sometime, somewhere, the wind would be waiting to caress its spring blossoms again. 

“L/n Y/n, my name is Y/n.” 

Akaashi heard the snap of a distant fan. 

He tightened his embrace.

At long last, he could let the tears fall.

Yours was a noble name lost to time, one in which he found an inexplicable sense of catharsis. Each and every syllable supplied the warmth and blood pumping through his beating heart. Your name poured into his body, supplying the last breath he would take until his return to Uji. When that next time would be, he could not fathom. But with the way that this spring had started and the way that it was ending, Akaashi wholeheartedly needed for you to be right, that he would return to you.

Akaashi came into your life like a spring storm and left like the ebb of the cherry blossoms’ caress. At long last, you understood the ode to spring penned by an Akaashi so many centuries ago and the expression of your Akaashi this spring when he asked for your name. Both Akaashis knew of a love so brief and fleeting that it became forever etched into the bitter and sweet of spring. Like the vernal _hatsumono_ , this was a season so bitter that it laid copper rivulets upon your soil, yet a moment so sweet that it would carry the cherry blossom wind through into the next and forever springs that would be. 

For now, Akaashi remained half-right. Lives were but one. And his was all but a fever dream that began and ended with spring. 

Approximately one year later, at the start of what would be the most splendid spring Uji had ever seen, amidst the early buds of the new _hatsumono_ leaves, a small piece of news made its way to your tea shop. By way of the head merchant’s wife, you had learned that there had been a final skirmish on the outskirts of Osaka Bay. A battle was won, and a battle was lost. Peace was finally returned to the civilians. Uji flourished under the shogunate. And your noble general never did come back for you. 

Thus concluded the second and final spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **About 『Spring Storm; 春風化雨』:**
> 
>   * Reader-chan in this second instalment is a teahouse owner during the early stages of the Tokugawa shogunate. _Bakufu_ is the romanization for “shogunate”. This period from 1192 and 1868 is known as the Edo period (Edo being the old name for Tokyo). Tokugawa Ieyasu moved the capital from Kyoto to Edo after consolidating power in Japan, ending the chaotic civil wars of the Sengoku period. 
>   * _Hakama_ is a piece of traditional Japanese clothing. _Jingasa_ is the black, wide brimmed hat worn by samurai when they are encamped or travelling. The lacquer helps keep it waterproof and lightweight.
>   * _Dono_ (or _tono_ ) is a suffix used to denote “lord” or “master”. It’s kind of similar to the English equivalent of “my lord”, and does not necessarily signify noble birth. 
>   * _Shirogayu_ is plain congee; _nanohana_ is rapeseed plant, canonically Akaashi’s favourite food and a common ingredient associated with spring; _takenonko_ is bamboo shoots, another spring ingredient, and can get expensive; _tsukemono_ is Japanese pickle. The latter three can all accompany congee as side dishes. 
>   * _Shincha_ means “new tea”, and it’s regarded as top quality in Japan. It has a fresh aroma, and is characterised by a subtle sweetness and a distinct grassiness. _Hatsumono_ is the “first pickings of the year”, essentially _shincha_.
>   * Heian era texts do not usually refer to given names directly, a practice that stems from the decorum at that time. So usually, we’re left with their roles, honourifics, and their relations with other characters. It makes for confusing reads.
> 



	3. 0.『One Spring; 草木一春』

It is said that soulmates are entwined for forever and eternity. Regardless of the time, place and universe, the two pieces of a whole will be joined by unfathomable forces in some way or other. Just like the coupled breeze and cherry blossoms, which is how you and Akaashi have emerged throughout all the existent universes, soulmates come together in the short moment that repeats its course through eternity. Without fail, once a sun cycle is complete and warmth returns to the earth again, the breeze will seek out the blushing blooms until the colours of spring litter each plane once more. A fleeting love, the beauty is in its ephemeral passion.

With such intensity, perhaps their love is fated to be brief, fated to be springtime lovers for all of time and space. 

At times, the mystic hands will take pity on its vernal dyad. It will morph the spring breeze and its lover into something more visceral, more lasting. It will let passion run its course in the way that the lovers and the times want it to. Perhaps once in an evermore, there is one tiny, infinitesimal speck of possibility that the couple comes to a beautiful, perennial fruition. As of yet, the romance has remained in the deep spring. 

Such is the brevity of sentient fate.

The universe too tires of chances, tires of the politics in which its lovers exist. With the extra consideration and care that they take to each new articulation, should the dyad continuously miss its other half in these peculiar chances, their mortal bond will fade. It will grow weaker and weaker, until all that remains are a passing glance and an unfamiliarly nostalgic ache. 

The universe pauses. It looks at the creation in its cradle. A final spring awaits. With a sigh that suffuses into the realms of all times and spaces, it breathes existence into the finale. This is the last love. It knows that should this one come to fruition, it will welcome the lovers into an everlasting spring. 

A spring that truly belongs to these fateful lovers.


	4. 3.『Spring, Again 著手成春』

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** very slight enemies to lovers. very slight swearing. some uji references.

Four hours and two train rides later, you are here, in Uji.

Once you had alighted the JR station, you had headed straight to your targeted destination. You had rushed past the Uji Bridge, where Toyotomi Hideyoshi had once drawn water for his tea ceremony; past Byōdō-in, the World Heritage temple of the ten _yen_ coin; and straight through Naka-no-shima, startling tourists and guides alike that were clustered on the cherry blossom bridges of the Uji River. In your hurry, you had only paused to snap a quick photo of the statue of Lady Murasaki Shikubu — it would have been irreverent to not to. 

You double-check the address in front of you, making sure that your phone has brought you to the right place. After all, there was only one day’s time to spend in Uji before you need to catch the Shinkansen back to Tokyo.

The two-storied building stands wholly unremarkable before you. A small plaque hung to the side of the main doors, engraved with a simple, fading “teahouse” in a quiet, straightforward penmanship. The entire atmosphere is unremarkable, yet to you, the building exudes an inexplicable undercurrent of elegance and pride. It is serene and out of the way. This little parcel of haven is only punctuated with the whispers of chatter and the rustling of the river below. The cherry blossom crowds don’t stray to this eastern bank of the river. Even for the literary travellers, the traces of _The Tale of Genji_ hold much more appeal than what you have come for. 

Which is perfect. You’re in Uji with your own piece of spring. 

You take a moment to breathe in the epoch of it all before sliding the door open, a little bell chiming its welcome to a new visitor. 

“Welcome.” A kindly grandmother comes out to greet you as you slip your shoes off. “A table for two?”

“Just for one, please,” you correct her with a polite smile as you step onto the tatami, following her to a nook in the corner by the window. 

“What can I get you, dear?”

Your reply is almost embarrassingly immediate, having done your research. “Is your, um, _shincha_ available yet?”

“Ah, the _hatsumono_!” She chuckles at your eagerness, eyes twinkling. “Yes, it’s just ready. Will that be all for you, dear?”

“Yes, please. Thank you,” you smile bashfully, watching her bustle off to the back of the house. You turn to your bag, and take out a well-worn notebook, novel, and pen. 

Two other parties currently occupy the small space, chatting quietly in their own corners. With seating for only ten, the tearoom gives off a certain kind of intimate softness. The lacquered timber and carefully maintained tatami come together in a humble energy, grounding your body while guiding your sight towards the otherworld beyond the dark framed windows.

In the pocket of small, serene green by the riverbank, fenced off from the small alleyway by bamboos swaying in the wind, a wizened cherry blossom tree stands in the teahouse’s garden. An extension of the tearoom’s tenured timber, the tree trunk is a stroke of black on a spring canvas. Compared to the younger, ingenuous blooms on the other bank, this tree speaks of contemplation measured in eons. Its rosy blooms are softer, as if mellowed by the mercurial times and the gentle course of the river. Yet, it blooms proudly, standing more tenaciously than their fledgling western counterparts in the gentle wind. 

You like it, you decide, the kind of humbled maturity that comes with time and experience. Taking your phone, you snap a few reference photographs of the tree and scenery, committing the visuals to pixels. The other subtleties — the way the sunlight filters through the blossoms and reflects off the glass panes, how it grazes the edges of your frayed books, the way the currents carry the trickling of the river right through the open windows — all this you will have to commit to memory. This will have to do until you can make it back here again, just for fun next time. 

“Here you go, dear.” The grandmother sets a lacquered tray in front of you, bringing your attention back to this world. “ _Hatsumono_ , the first pickings.”

“Ah, thank you,” you smile softly, gaze lingering on the set in front of you. “Excuse me, I don’t think I ordered this though.”

You point to the dainty plate of sugar-coated sweets next to the teapot.

“Isn’t that right? This is homemade _karintō_ on the house, dear.” The twinkling laughter returns, her eyes crinkling with gentle amusement. “You look like the type to appreciate this.”

Face flushing once again, you stutter out a “thank you” as the woman flits away to the chiming of the door’s bell. 

You return to the set in front of you. The tea sits in a simple ceramic cup. The deep, jade green is crisp and clean against the smooth interior of the cup. A mellow sweetness already wafts towards you, a wistful melange of earthy tones interweaving with the faint cherry blossom breeze. Bringing the cup to your lips, you tip the liquid back.

Muted bitterness and currents of saccharine run through your senses. 

The garden draws you in, to where blossoms bloom against lacquer and vibrancy. 

There is the distant chiming of a bell, a small pearl jingling against its bronzed cage as a door rattles close. 

A mellow breeze billows through the cherry blossom tree. 

Softly. 

“Excuse me, don’t you go to Todai?” 

The equinox. 

You look up. Immediately, almost viscerally, you blanch.

Spring thunder of gunmetal greys. 

“You’re one of Shiraki-sensei’s students, right?” Curiosity interlaces his gentle tone. That piercing gaze looks straight down at you.

“No way,” you breathe out, hands shaking as you set the cup down. “What are you doing here?”

“Probably for the same reason as you.” Akaashi’s eyes crinkle slightly at the edges as he moves to sit down. “May I?”

You gesture wryly at the seat across. He sets his bag down, and pulls out a similarly worn notebook and a tablet.

“I can’t believe I have to compete with you for the research spot,” you grumble, watching him quirk an eyebrow at your drink with a hint of amusement. “Wait, which book are you doing your proposal on?”

“ _In the Corner of the Deep Spring_.”

“No fucking way.”

“Yeah,” Akaashi states as he shifts the menu to the edge of the table. “I am in Uji and at this teahouse after all.”

There is no malice or mockery in his tone, and you feel scarlet bloom onto your cheeks. Your question was undeniable redundant. Fiddling with your pen, you watch him place an order with the elderly woman. 

“Could I get a _hatsumono_ please?” Akaashi’s voice holds a fond undertone in talking to the woman. “And one of the _nanohana_ and one _takenoko_ _onigiri_ , please and thank you.”

“Of course, dearie. I’ll be right back,” the grandmother chuckles, eyeing the two of you not so subtly before hobbling off to start the preparation. 

Akaashi, face slightly tinged with a blushing pink, turns his attention back to you. 

You clear your throat, picking up the tea cup again. “You sure did your research,” you mutter. “I didn’t think anyone else would choose Heian, especially since this isn’t an era-specific course.”

Nodding along, he lets you complete your thought.

“And it’s a tragic romance novel set in the most whimsical and roundabout period of history.”

Akaashi laughs suddenly, and gosh, it is like the warmth of spring enveloping you. 

Catching yourself in this thought, you quickly down the rest of the tea, wincing a little as you set the cup back down with a little too much force.

“It’s not really.” His gunmetal blues picks up a current of interest, genuine and frank. “Once you read a few different texts and begin to digest them, the Heian era isn’t bad. There’s a beauty to it.”

“And the tragedy?”

“Hmm.” He mulls this over, taking off his dark-framed glasses as his thoughts brew in their own storm’s eyes. “It’s not a tragedy. It’s more about the transitory bloom of life. It really reflects on a world that is just as fleeting as our own. It’s not tragic. I don’t think ‘tragedy’ does these works justice.”

Akaashi’s gaze focuses back on you.

“It’s ephemerally beautiful.”

His words carry such resoluteness that you are momentarily taken aback.

“You really must enjoy this kind of thing,” you murmur. You had to give him credit for his genuine honesty. “And here I thought you were specializing in something else?”

“I am, but I don’t discriminate,” Akaashi smiles. “ _The Tale of Genji_ , as canonical as it is, still gives me new perspective with each reread.”

“You could’ve gone for _The Tale of Genji_ then.” You quirk an eyebrow, shifting your tray as the grandmother comes back with Akaashi’s tea set and _onigiri_. The fact that he also has _karintō —_ an extra large helping of it at that — doesn’t escape you. 

“I could have.” He pauses to thank the elderly woman as she finishes the set up. “But that would be trite.”

“So, this has nothing to do with your name.”

Akaashi looks at you startled as the grandmother chuckles quietly, blessing the two of you with a simple smile before making her way back to the front of the house. 

“You know my name?” Akaashi picks up the cup, a perfect replica of yours, as he shifts his sight towards the open windows. His face is once again in that pleasant shade of pink, and yet again, you silently berate yourself for registering that. 

“Well, yeah,” you mutter, toying with the edge of your own cup, the start of a frown marring your face. “You’re on the volleyball team, and I hear a few V.League players drop by your games sometimes. And you’re the youngest senior editor for the campus newspaper.”

Turning his gaze back to you, Akaashi raises both eyebrows at your recognition. 

“Wait, no, wait! It’s not what you think,” you backtrack fervently, feeling your own face flush a deep, deep red at how your words must have sounded. “Everyone on campus knows of Akaashi Keiji! Besides, Shiraki-sensei, my own thesis advisor, keeps telling me to meet with you, insists that it’ll do me _much_ good.”

You scowl, knowing well that you sound bitter. But you had been planning this weekend trip since the announcement of the research opportunity, and it is quickly devolving into a fever dream in the most literal sense. To have to compete with the prodigious Akaashi Keiji, adored by all departments from visual arts to sports science, you are even making a fool of yourself in front of him.

“Sensei says I ramble too much, unlike ‘Akaashi _no_ Keiji,’ who has the most ‘careful, deliberate, and original thoughts,’” you clear you throat, sitting up straighter as you reach for your cup. The tea has gotten cold, and with as little awkwardness as you can manage, you wryly put it down again without drinking it. “And you’re not even her thesis student.”

Akaashi gives you a nod as he sips his own piping hot one with an elegance that only makes you more irritated. 

“I’m not,” he replies in that matter-of-fact tone of his, “but I had her for an introductory class last year, and am now interested in this era and research position.”

There is yet again no pretension, nothing to dislike about his statement. He only speaks with a humble decorum. You cannot bear the distinction between your sudden, childish animosity and his genuine sensibility. And his ramrod straight posture since the start, his grace in setting down his cup, his voice’s gentle nature even in replying to your nasty remarks. Oh, and the fact that even the grandmother gave him more _karintō_ when you are both paying customers. 

“Your name is literally Akaashi Keiji, and you’re a literal literature genius,” you laugh dryly, moving to pick up your books and pen. “I guess I have a lot to work on then.”

You take your wallet out of your bag, and move to stand up.

“Well, Akaashi-san, it was nice to finally meet you,” you state as evenly as you can, looking out to the garden one last time. “I only have a day here, so see you at the proposal presentation.”

“What?” Akaashi scrambles to stand up as you turn to leave. “Wait!” 

His voice garners the glances of the other patrons, and you hear the stern shushing of the grandmother from the front of the house.

“Is there something else I can help you with?” You turn back to him, frowning at how the dark lacquer of his hair is so perfectly harmonized with the blush pink of the petals behind him. The name really suits him you realize with a grudging, softened thought. 

“I was,” Akaashi scratches his head, voice suddenly faltering. The flush of his skin glows in the gentle rays, and you honestly don’t bother scolding yourself anymore. “I was thinking we can work on it together?”

“What?” Your jaw drops open as you stare at him dumbfounded. This is unexpected to say the least. “We’re literally gunning for the same research position.”

Akaashi runs his hand through his locks as he looks down at the tatami floor.

“Look, we’re doing the same book for the proposal, right? I was thinking we could talk about it together and work out the investigative part together,” he states, turning his gaze back up to you, a sigh escaping him. “It’ll be a symbiotic relationship that’ll benefit both of us in the long run even when one of us doesn’t get the spot.”

His logic, once again, is not unreasonable, and you find yourself unable to retort. 

“Why do you want to work with me though?”

“To be honest with you, I’m not sure.” A faint smile plays at his lips. “You have been quite hostile to me, and while I can understand where you’re coming from, it’s still hurtful.”

You stumble back a bit, face flushing into the deepest and most feverish red. He looks at you with a recovered calmness and politeness in his gaze, no malice, no disdain. 

“I’m,” you stutter, a feeling a shame washing over you, “I’m really sorry. I guess I do have a lot to learn from you, huh?”

“You’re alright.” Akaashi breaks into an easy grin. “I have a lot to learn from you as well.”

“Oh.”

Embarrassment fresh on your face, tongue tied by some unknown memory, you could only stare at him, deeply uncomfortable as a small stirring seizes up your heart. He merely maintains his facade of serenity as he watches you. Clearing your throat as subtly as you can — you don’t miss the slight spark of amusement in his features — you gesture to the table, motioning to him to sit down once again. 

“Okay.” You pause, throat parched as the cold cup of tea catches your attention.

“Cold _hatsumono_ tastes just as good,” Akaashi offers, reaching for his own now chilled one.

Curiosity flits across your face as you watch him sip at the brew, expression unchanged. As he sets the cup back down, you can’t help but notice how the dew accentuates the gentle slope of his lips. 

At your stare, Akaashi nods to your cup in encouragement. As you do your best to mimic the grace with which he sipped his tea, you vehemently ignore the rising heat on the back of your neck. 

The more you try to emulate his poise, the further up his eyebrow raises, and the more flustered you become. So, in hopes of cooling yourself down, you down the contents in one go. 

Only half of it makes it past your lips.

You slam the cup down, sputtering as you cough, startling the other patrons. A louder, more resounding shush comes from the front of the house. 

“I’m so sorry!” You cry as discreetly as possible, hands furiously wiping at your jaw and neck. “I’m so sorry. Oh, gosh. I’m so so sorry.”

Akaashi immediately hands you a handkerchief from his pocket. Watching you hastily wipe your face with the soft Prussian blue, he laughs openly.

“You’re alright, dear.”

You did not think you could warm up to such a shade of flustered mess. A voice so deep, rich, and carefree, one that runs as one with the river beyond and a time bygone, all your harboured frost melts into the equinox of a fresh deep spring. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, face still in its newfound fervoured shade. “I’ll, uh, return this to you on campus once I wash this.”

You folded up the handkerchief, and slipped it into your bag.

“There’s no rush,” Akaashi smiles pleasantly. 

The flush on your face deepens as you’re left floundering at his geniality. 

Perhaps noticing the discomforting warmth on your cheeks again, he picks up his teapot and refills your cup, gesturing for you to drink. This time you do it normally regardless of the blooms on your cheeks. 

“The quality of water in Uji and this establishment’s tea leaves make their brew quite unique,” Akaashi supplies with a quiet chuckle, turning conversation around to offset your embarrassment. “They’ve been using the same supplier for since the Edo period.”

“Wow. You really did your research,” you say with an honest appreciation this time. A new perspective on Akaashi Keiji makes itself known to you. It’s fact; his insights on literature and his noble graciousness are admirable. 

“You know what, Akaashi-san?” Hesitantly, you pull out your phone from your bag. “If you, uh, don’t mind, let me add you on Line.”

You can’t help but feel a little heart palpitation as you recognize the look of surprise on Akaashi’s face. 

“Ah,” he finally nods, grabbing his own phone from his pocket. “Okay.”

You give him your phone, and he scans the code.

“Great.” You accept his request and smile genuinely for the first time since meeting him. “All done!”

Akaashi remains silent as his gaze lingers on his screen.

“Is this your full name?” He glances back up at you, and looks back down at his screen again, brows knit in confusion. 

A grin threatens to ripple across your face at his nonplussed expression and eyes that flicker in recognition.

“Yeah, L/n Y/n, my name is Y/n.”

Akaashi stares at you in amazement, and you grin back at him.

A breeze blows past, rattling the paper windows. Soft, rosy petals fall upon your table in an evanescent current. 

One falls directly into his teacup. 

From a table behind him, Akaashi hears a distinct snap of an opening fan. 

And for some inexplicable reason, his expression settles with ease, and he exhales, long and bated, as if an ambered knot has been finally unraveled.

At long last, the blossoms and breeze meet in the floating world that lingers. 

Akaashi lets your name roll off his tongue, eyes softening with each punctuation of a syllable.

You finally laugh, a kind teasing lilt to your tone. “You’re not that special, Akaashi _no_ Keiji.”

“Are you,” Akaashi hesitates, “are you also a Heian descendant?”

“I think so? There’s some family lore, but mine’s probably not as direct as yours,” you grin, refilling his teacup. “You know, since mine was a pretty small house that got lost in history sometime after the fall of the Heian court.”

“Have you had the chance to explore this dynastic hometown of your clan?” Akaashi asks, voice picking up a gentle excitement. “I heard your surname might actually be connected to the work.”

“Yeah, I saw the preliminary speculations! It’d be pretty cool to explore and look through the traces in Uji. Maybe even start digging around for clues on the clan’s home,” you muse, picking up a _karintō_. “But I have to catch the last Shinkansen back to Tokyo today.”

A thought clouds over Akaashi's face as you see the storm brewing in his irises. 

“Would you like to stay longer?”

You look at him, brow quirking in amusement. “Yeah, of course, but the lodgings here are fucking expensive.”

“I could offer you a place to stay.”

He looks at you, face neutral and without a hint of jest. 

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Like the break of ray after a spring storm, his eyes flash with mirth. A spark that shines with an evermore, they pull you into a world both familiar and unknown, one that is blue and rosy and undeniably his and yours. If you wish it to be.

“No,” he smiles, “I’m not.”

“Where?” You frown, completely flummoxed.

“Here.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“Like, in this teahouse?”

“Yes,” Akaashi laughs, your expression too flabbergasted for him not to. “The Akaashi family acquired this teahouse and garden sometime during the Meiji period.”

“Holy fucking shit. And that grandmother is?”

“She is my grandaunt.”

“Oh my,” you breathe out, leaning back in a state of absolute amazement. “Did your family know?”

“That this teahouse might be connected to the Lady of the Cherry Blossoms? There have been suspicions,” Akaashi smiles, an impish inquisitiveness tugging at his lips. “It will be exciting to know her identity and to figure out the history of this place.”

“Yeah, it would. Imaging if we finally get to answers after almost a millennia.” You pause, rehashing the thought. “But this work isn’t just about the mystery behind it, although having answers would contextualize it and allow us to explore the work further.”

“You’re right.” Akaashi looks at you pensively, a nagging feeling tugging at his core that you are perhaps right in more ways than one. He’s sure that he’s made the right choice. 

Adrenaline courses through you as you feel your chest swell up with excitement. It is so easy to talk to him that it’s wholly unfair. You are enjoying this entire conversation a lot more than you could have ever imagined.

Akaashi shakes his head slightly, chuckling to himself at your eagerness. 

“The Lady’s identity doesn’t make it any less of a literary masterpiece,” he continues. “It’ll also be interesting for you to find out the historical circumstances and your family’s connection to all of this.”

“Definitely,” you grin brightly, finding yourself nodding along to everything that he is saying. “I’m actually really looking forward to exploring more of this teahouse. Especially the garden and cherry blossom tree.”

“So, are you staying?” Akaashi prompts, the subtle mischievousness returning. “You can do all the research you want. Not just for this weekend either.” 

You pick up the calling card—

“And we’ll help each other out?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

—and plunge yourself straight into this deep spring. 

“Deal.”

Spring springs before your eyes, and you are free. 

That night, after Akaashi gave you an expert tour of the town, the two of you sit side by side underneath the cherry blossom tree. Abandon runs wild in the cool vernal evening, and you talk of everything, conversation running its course from the verses of _In the Corner of the Deep Spring_ to the antics of his V.League friends. Tonight holds a rhythm that is at once livelier and more at peace, simultaneously more brief and everlasting. 

The breeze makes the cherry blossom more ephemeral, and the cherry blossoms make the breeze more alive. Together, they give you forever and only ask for one thing, to connect. For the bonds that connect will become deathless, and with this spring, deathless become the blossom and its breeze.

The universe smiles.

In the corner of the deep spring, the cherry blossoms are the most dazzling in the gentle breeze.

Thus begins the forever and final spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **About 『Spring, Again 著手成春』:**
> 
>   * JR is the Japanese Railway Company. From Tokyo, it generally takes two trains to get to Uji. 
>   * The Uji Bridge is a famous historical landmark in Uji. It also holds significant in _The Tale of Genji_. 
>   * Toyotomi Hideyoshi was a powerful 16th century Japanese feudal lord. 
>   * _Byōdō-in_ is a temple built in the Heian era, and it does actually appear on the ten _yen_ coin. 
>   * _Naka-no-shima_ are two islands that are in the middle of the Uji River. Collectively, it is a park celebrated for the Ujigawa Cherry Blossom Festival held in late April. The previous form of these islands also holds importance in _The Tale of Genji_. 
>   * _Shinkansen_ is the Japanese bullet train. In this instance, it runs from Tokyo to Kyoto and back. Reader-chan would have to take a regional train between Kyoto and Uji. 
>   * _Onigiri_ is Japanese rice ball, consisting of rice moulded into a triangle or cylindrical shape and usually wrapped in dried seaweed. They come in a variety of flavours. The best tasting _onigiri_ either comes from your grandmother or it Onigiri Miya. This is fact. 
>   * Line is the most used messaging app in Japan. One of the ways to add a contact is by scanning a personalized QR code.
> 



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